


Choices, Circles,  Crowns

by Marien



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-20 23:53:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17032308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marien/pseuds/Marien
Summary: Written for the Yuletide 2018 fic exchange!One path Sandry's future might take, after events inThe Will of the Empress.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ginnyweasleys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnyweasleys/gifts).



_1043 KF. Twentieth day of Mead Moon  
Gold Ridge Valley, in the Duchy of Emelan_

It was barely past sunrise when Briar Moss woke his sisters. Sandry grumbled, but this time 'round, she didn't argue.  
After escaping Namorn, Briar and Daja had insisted that Sandry learn more about defending herself without relying solely on magic.  
Even though she'd renounced her title and lands in Namorn, she was still a wealthy, noble-born young woman who was unmarried. Some men would see her as "fair game". They'd seen that happen more than once in Dancruan. While Emelan didn't have an 'unwritten law' allowing men to kidnap potential brides, Briar still hadn't liked seeing her preyed upon. 

And he liked even less that she'd had to be rescued twice from abduction, unable to escape on her own.  


Sandry had protested the idea at first, but all three of her foster siblings had held firm.  
Briar pointed out that she had _wanted_ them to act in concert again, well, lessons in a skill she lacked were a good starting point, no?  
They'd started out with 'street tricks' he'd picked up in Sotat; ways for an unarmed fighter to evade or disable an attacker. He'd held off on a few techniques that could kill instead of cripple, until Sandry was more confident and less on edge. Daja focused on basic staff-fighting.  


He'd taught Tris how to use a knife, years ago, and to his surprise(and relief), she wasn't as rusty as might have been.

Each morning, they spent about an hour practicing. He had to admit Sandry was a quick study. She didn't pull her punches, either.  
Briar was secretly glad that she had some of her sass still. The girl who'd stood up for him against a crowd of adults when they were ten years old hadn't been completely smothered by "the Duke's niece, Countess Sandrilene fa Toren." Luckily, none of the would-be husbands Berenene had thrown at her had ever realized that they weren't seeing the real Sandry. _Useless, puffed-up peacocks trying to chase an eagle_ , he'd thought, disgusted. 

They'd stopped at Gold Ridge Valley on their way home to Summersea. Daja had received a message from Polyam, asking the quartet to meet her along the road.  
Daja had frowned a little, seeming to read an unspoken message in the brief letter before she sent a reply back to Polyam's caravan with the courier.  
Lady Inoulia had been surprised at their visit, but outwardly gracious. The girls were roomed together in the Keep. Her steward, Emmit, had pitched a tent in the courtyard for Briar without being asked, a small but real kindness Briar had appreciated. The nightmares had come less often during their trip south, but he still wasn't easy sleeping in an unfamiliar place.

Sunlight painted the eastern sky gold and pink as Sandry and Briar sparred. She had practiced enough that she was gaining muscle memory, didn't have to stop and think about the moves anymore before she countered his attempt at a blow.  


He heard Gudruny gasp softly when Sandry knocked him off his feet. From where he'd gone sprawling to the muddy ground, Briar craned his neck, grinning in the lady's direction.  
"Want to try your own luck?" he invited. 

She gulped. "N-no?" 

He sat up, nodded to Sandry. "Well played. Go walk to cool down." 

She made a show of cleaning her knife before replacing it in a boot sheath. She hadn't drawn blood twice on an opponent yet, but he was convinced she'd be able to do it if the need ever really arose. That soothed some of the jangled nerves he'd had lately.

Sandry straightened up. Before she left, she said softly, "Thank you." 

He wasn't altogether sure she meant him to hear that--it had been almost a whisper--so he didn't reply. 

He turned to see Gudruny , Lady Inoulia, and Lakik help him, Tris, watching him with speculative expressions. 

"You truly don't mind? Her beating you, " Gudruny asked, amazed. 

"No. If she can take me or Daj' down, she'll hopefully be able to deal with anyone else causing her trouble. " 

Inoulia blinked. "Would you not defend her, if they did?"

He gave her cool eyes. "Sure, same as she'd defend me. But what happens if I can't be there? I'm not going to let pride come before her being safe." _Not mine, and not hers_ he carefully didn't say. 

He took a short walk himself to cool down. The fields were blooming, crocus beds still bright and lively with color. An apple tree clumsily reached toward him. Briar urged it wordlessly to stop before it cracked a branch. He took the offered apples and a twig that held a few fragrant blossoms. The smell of them was soothing, and he knew both Sandry and Tris liked flowers. 

He asked Tris if she knew of any medicinal uses for them. They wound up browsing through Inoulia's library most of the afternoon. The distraction worked, or he thought it had, though the weather-witch still watched him occasionally with a gleam in her eyes that made Briar faintly nervous. After the evening meal, Tris mindspoke to him privately. 

_You do realize that you don't_ have _to listen to Lady Stuck-Up spouting nonsense about commoners and nobles having 'different destinies'?_

The question caught him off guard. _I...wasn't listening,_ he admitted. _Had other stuff on my mind._

Tris' laughter floated down their bond. _You've got a better poker face than most, then. Good on you._

He wandered outside, a half-filled cup of wine in his hand. With a faint grimace, he poured it out onto a patch of stony ground. 

"You yearn for her." It was not a question. Inoulia regarded him thoughtfully from her seat on a fallen tree's trunk, chin resting on her hands. 

He smiled a little bitterly. "So did Berenene, in her own way." 

The Lady's feathery eyebrows shot up. "I fail to see the resemblance," she said after a long moment. 

"I think...What I've always loved most about Sandry is her courage. That she...doesn't let 'what's proper' stop her from caring for folk...I fought in the war between Yanjing and Gyongxe, and it near broke me. I need time." Briar swallowed, but wouldn't let himself look away. " She deserves better than 'maybe, someday'. Especially if it's true that her uncle means her to follow after him."

"Does Sandry get any say in this?" a voice asked lightly from behind him. 

He turned to see Sandrilene regarding him with sober eyes. _I didn't...realize your feelings toward me were any different, Briar,_ she said hesitantly. 

_I didn't...think much about it. Til I had to watch that pack of ….courtly slugs crawling over you,_ not able to keep the snarl out of his voice altogether. _But some of that anger's not just them...I love you. I don't want to lose you. But I'm not sure that means what it should, or what it means at all..._

She put her hands on his shoulders. _I'm not planning to be lost,_ she replied. _Oh, Briar, you sound so hurt and mixed up. I wish I'd known this sooner! Well, I don't...know altogether what to say, too, but I_ can _promise that I won't push you away or look for a 'suitable young man' before you know for sure what you do mean._ She dropped a soft kiss on his forehead. Aloud, "Then I'll wait until you're ready to decide which road you want to walk. I love you, too, silly, whatever way it turns out. You're stuck with me. We've got time for … whatever else." 

Daja and Tris found them outside a short time later. 

He and Sandry were sitting on a bench, her arm around his waist and his head resting on her shoulder with his eyes closed. 

"Everything all right?" Daja whispered in Tradertalk. 

"I think so. We had some stuff to sort out, but it's better." Sandry kept her own voice low.

"About time," Tris said, a little smugly. 

Sandry gave her a warning look and shook her head. _We've both agreed to put off anything in the way of huge decisions for a good while. He just got home from a war, and I barely got away from my precious cousin...we both need time to tend to ourselves._

Her sisters looked at each other. Tris bit her lip. 

"Polyam brought a letter for you. From Summersea, from the Duke. It didn't say much, but there was one request--'please come home.' As soon as you can."


	2. Chapter 2

_1043 KF. Eighth day of Barley Moon_  
_Summersea_

The four riders cantered up the road to the Citadel. The guards recognized the woman in the lead, and waved them through into the courtyard.  
Sandry swung down from her mount, not waiting for assistance.  
Briar caught her gelding's reins. "We'll see to your gear," he told Sandry. "Go on, we'll be right up."  
Sandry gave him a grateful nod before hurrying inside. _Lark?_ she called sharply. _We're here. Caravan Idaram's messengers found us._

_He's asleep now._ Her old teacher sounded tired, and concerned. 

Sandry's stomach lurched at the tone of Lark's mind-voice. Her uncle had been all right when they left... _oh, damn Berenene and her whole bloody court! I never should have gone._  
She reached Duke Vedris' rooms. Yazmin was in a chair at his bedside. Lark and Erdogun hovered nearby.  
She stopped, swallowing hard. "Uncle?" she whispered, feeling tears sting. She wiped them away roughly, taking his hand in hers. He was pale, and his skin was so cold!  


His eyes opened. He smiled, though his face was drawn with pain and weariness. "Sandry..." he rasped.  
A soft footstep and hands on her shoulders were the only hint of her foster-siblings' arrival. 

"Tryin' to sneak away on us, Your Grace?" Briar asked teasingly. "Now you should know better. Our girls won't stand for that."

Vedris managed to sit up, with Yazmin laying a supportive arm behind his back. "I suppose not," the older man replied weakly.

Tris laid her hands over Sandry's, strength and warmth flowing across their bond. Some of it seemed to pass into the Duke. He drew in a breath, the tension leaving him. "Thank you, my dears." 

Daja replied in Tradertalk. "We are in your debt, sir. Thanks should be yours, but I don't know how we'd ever repay it all."

"Look after my Sandry," Vedris said in the same language. "I couldn't be more proud of her..."

"We will. " All three of them spoke as one.

"Sandrilene." Vedris met her gaze. " You and Yazmin are the only reasons I've stayed this long... There are some things that must be decided now; I should have asked you before you left for Namorn. I understand you don't mean to return there?"

 _"Never,_ " Sandry said viciously.  


"Then... do you wish to take the throne of Emelan after me?" He tightened his grasp slightly. "Franzen...He will never rule here." Vedris looked into her eyes. " If you choose not to succeed, I will think no less of you. " He shrugged. "You've faced so many struggles already... In that instance, it will pass to Gospard or to Colederran. "

Sandry faltered. It wasn't that she didn't want to honor his wishes, but...

She gulped. "I don't want you to go. I never wanted to be a duchess if --"

. _You won't have to take this all on by yourself,_ Daja told her. _But--_ saati, _he needs an answer. Let him know his people will be cared for. Let him rest._

Her lips trembled, but she said, "You've been a father to me since my parents died. I'd be honored to think I could be half the ruler you are, but I'll try. Yes."

He smiled proudly. Tugging at his left hand, he slid the signet ring he wore off, and set it in Sandry's upturned palm.  
Vedris lay back and closed his eyes. Yazmin drew blankets up to his chin. 

He took a shuddering breath, then another...and went still.  


Sandry turned into Briar's arms, hiding a tear-streaked face in his shoulder. 

* * *  
Tris glared up at the thick gray clouds dotting the sky. She flicked a hand at them, pushing them firmly away. Summersea had had enough rain and gloom over the past week. They would not have it today, she was determined. Let Niko or the others disapprove; she didn't care for once.  
She, Lark, and Erdogun had witnessed the Duke's appointment of Sandry as his heir. The Council had seemed unsurprised. Tris suspected the Duke had had the sense not to hide his intentions from them.  


Erdogun smiled wryly. "I was wishing I could do just that," the Seneschal remarked. They were in the front yard, intercepting a steady stream of well-meaning visitors who'd come to offer condolences. "Or throw lighting at a few of these gossips..."

Tris chuckled, but shook her head. She made a subtle gesture toward the bench where Frostpine sat, a cup of hot tea cradled in his hands. 

The smith gazed at her innocently. "Hm. Give me a swat if I should nod off," he said. "These old bones get tired easily, you know?"

Tris hid a snicker. She chewed the end of one of her braids as she reached for Briar, cautiously. _How is she doing?_

Her brother didn't need to ask who Tris meant. _She finally dozed off._  


_Good._

_Lark's sending me out. We're being 'courtly' now, and there'll be gossip if the Duchess has a man in her bedchambers._ He sighed, irritated. _The nobles will be at her about it if I stay._

 _Then you can come help me here. Daja and I have something in mind..._

_Huh?_

_Come and see,_ Tris told him. _You need this, too. When was the last time we created anything as a circle? Too. Long._

 _All right, on my way._ Intrigued in spite of himself, Briar let himself be 'nudged'. 

Daja met them in the gardens behind the Citadel.  
Vines and tree branches reached out to Briar, twining around his legs and feet. A warm breeze tugged at Tris' hair, flowing over her and soothing tight muscles. She shut her eyes, feeling stones hum under her feet. 

They sat facing one another, close enough to touch, as they used to do at Discipline.  
"Meditation first," Tris reminded them aloud. 

Three pairs of lungs took in slow, steady breaths. 

* * *  


Sandry woke after only a few hours' sleep. 

The voices she heard weren't mourning, but raised in anger. 

_Franzen,_ she recognized.  
Her jaw tightened. She threw off the blankets and was up, snatching a robe from a nearby chair.  
The man was arguing with Lark and Erdogun, loudly, as if volume would make up for a complete lack of decorum _or_ sense. 

Sandry schooled her face to a blankness that the Empress of Namorn would have found impressive. She walked downstairs to the sitting room where the three of them stood.  
"Why are you here?" she asked her cousin, her tone winter-cold. 

Franzen glared at her. "I am Vedris' son, and heir--"

"And as you have been told, more than once, no, you are _not._ " Lark cut him off. "We witnessed Duke Vedris' naming Sandrilene as heir to the Duchy. Four other people also witnessed it. "

Sandry moved to stand in front of her former teacher and the Seneschal, drawing Franzen's eyes to her. "If you doubt _my_ word, we'll send to Winding Circle Temple for a truthsayer," she told him.  


"You witched him into this!" he accused her.  


"Then bring proof of it before the Circle," she replied, her voice dangerously mild. "Meantime, I've more important things to do than engage in a battle of wits with the unarmed." 

She turned away, dismissively, and spoke to the others. "Shall we go in to breakfast?"  


Franzen's face turned a shade of vivid red. He gaped as she led her people out of the room. Sandry ignored his calling after her. She would not engage in a brawl with him, not today.  


Lark regaled her and Erdogun with gossip of recent events at Winding Circle, including the news that Crane--of all people! was betrothed and would be married next spring. It wasn't unheard of for dedicates to do so, but vanishingly rare. Sandry didn't know whether to admire his lover's courage or question Peachleaf's sanity.  
The distraction worked; she finished a bowl of hot porridge, despite her lack of appetite.

_Come outside when you're done?_ Briar asked. _Both of you. We've been working on a coronation gift for our new Duchess, would like your thoughts on whether it suits._

 _We know we don't HAVE to, stitchwitch,_ Tris added at Sandry's protest. _But we did anyway, so come have a look._

After quickly dressing, Sandry hurried outdoors. She was touched by the others' gesture, and also now very curious.

Niko and Rosethorn were sitting nearby. Her attention was caught by a silken bundle Briar held in both hands. She could feel magic emanating from it; their circle's, but also faintly beneath it, bright threads of their former teachers'. 

Briar unfolded the gift. Sandry felt her eyes go round. It appeared to be a wooden spindle or scepter at first, but she could feel Daja's living metal and -- _lightning?_ No, she realized. Light, somehow. It glowed softly, like early morning sunlight, when she picked it up. She could sense spells for healing and protection, Briar's work, also in the symbols carved and painted along the shaft which ended in a triangular, razor-sharp blade covered by a leather sheath. A garnet carved in the shape of a tiny sun adorned the hilt. A ruler's ornament, but also a weapon if needed. She looked up, warm gratitude and pride in her eyes. Tugging out a strand of her own magic, she wove it through the pattern of her family's power. Silvery lines appeared, forming the Toren coat of arms beneath her fingers. 

_So you'll have light even when it's darkest,_ Briar told her. _And so you know we won't ever completely leave you. These spells won't fade the way your crystal did. For always._

 _It's always us,_ her family repeated.

Sandry didn't hesitate before she pulled all three of them into a fierce hug. _Always,_ she agreed.


End file.
